A Keeper
by whitherwaywill
Summary: After the war, Pansy and Ron find their own happy ever after.
1. The Obligatory Who's Doing What Prologue

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling.**

* * *

 **** A KEEPER****

 **Chapter One**

 _ **The Obligatory Who's Doing What Prologue**_

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 **May 2, 1998 – May 2, 1999**

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It really was ridiculous how quickly prejudices disappeared after the war was over.

Voldemort was dead. All of the Death Eaters, with the exception of Draco Malfoy, were imprisoned in Azkaban, with no chance of parole.

And having faced the obvious villains in battle, house prejudices and schoolyard rivalries were set aside as the graduating seventh years of Hogwarts prepared to face their biggest challenge: The rest of their lives.

Harry and Ron opted not to redo their seventh year, instead taking their NEWTs through the Ministry. Harry was put on the fast track to become an Auror. Ron, however, was quite done fighting dark wizards, and decided to take on another job: assistant at Fred and George's Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

Fred and George themselves were happily cohabiting a flat in Diagon Alley, paying the neighbors to stave off complaints about the explosions that inevitably shook the building at four o'clock in the morning. Angelina and Daphne, Fred and George's respective romantic partners, each stayed the night at the boys' place half the time and at the flat they had bought for themselves to share the other half.

Ginny married Harry straight out of Hogwarts, and began to run a potions lab from the basement of Grimmauld Place. St. Mungo's came to rely on her specialty potions.

The Burrow was still the hub of the clan, with Mrs. Weasley paying visits to her children every so often to terrorize them into domestic compliance, and brunch every Sunday.

When Narcissa joined Hermione's Committee for the Equal Treatment of All Beings, the two became fast friends. Narcissa introduced Hermione to Astoria Greengrass, Draco's fiancé, and the friendship that blossomed rivaled that of Daphne and Ginny's. After some time, Hermione made her peace with Draco, and was one of Astoria's bridesmaids at her wedding.

And at the Malfoy-Greengrass wedding, Hermione was introduced to Blaise Zabini. After a whirlwind romance, he whisked his new wife off to see the world. A year later, Hermione was pregnant, and neither of them had any immediate plans to return to England.

Within the small circle of those who had any connection whatsoever to the Weasleys, everything was beginning to look up by the time the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts rolled around.

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 **a/n: I am the first to admit this has minimal substance. It started as a one-shot; I have expanded it. There are probably many characters who are OOC, just to preserve the light-heartedness of this affair. I have had people mistake this for a marriage law fic; it is not. Nevertheless, I had fun writing it, and hopefully you will have fun reading it. If you do, consider dropping a review :)))**


	2. Ron Makes a Shockingly Bad Investment

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling.**

* * *

 **** A KEEPER****

 **Chapter Two**

 _ **Ron Makes a Shockingly Bad Investment**_

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 **3 May 1999**

 **Ron's Home**

 **(or the apartment he used to share with his ex)**

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I don't know about this, Ginny, you know he was out drinking last night – what if he brought a girl home?"

"Oh, poo." A very pregnant Ginevra Potter pushed her husband's concerns aside as she brushed off her dress. Floo travel was very messy, and it was obvious Ron hadn't cleaned his fireplace in a while. "Ron hasn't been able to get a date since Hermione dumped him for Blaise Zabini. Who's a catch, by the way. I don't blame her for it."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks, beloved wife."

Ginny laughed. "You know it." She smiled at Harry and took his hand as they ventured deeper into the apartment.

"Merlin," Harry swore. "What on earth is that smell?" It was indeed a stench to be remembered – a mix of mouldy cheese, old pizza, and stale alcohol.

"I expect it's Ron," Ginny said. "Follow the smell."

She plowed forward, dragging a recalcitrant Harry behind her. _"Follow_ the smell?" he griped. "Don't you think we should be walking in the _opposite direction_ of the smell? Running, even?"

"Which door leads to his room?" Ginny asked, ignoring her husband.

"Um…the one on the right?"

"Perfect." Ginny blithely led the way into the room, shoving the door open and flicking the muggle lights (courtesy of Hermione) on. "Rise and shine, brother!"

"GINNY!" Ron bellowed at a surprising volume for his current, half-awake state. "BLOODY HELL!"

"It's eleven o'clock, Ron, on a Monday. You're _very_ late for work."

"I work for the twins," Ron mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes blearily. "Do you _really_ think the shop's going to be open, today of all days?"

The three of them stared off into space for a few moments.

"No, I suppose not," Harry muttered softly. "But maybe – you could go cheer them up? I'm sure they're both remembering Lee, and – "

As Harry spoke, Ron's attention was suddenly drawn to the piece of paper in his hand. He wasn't feeling very kindly toward it; when he rubbed his eyes, it had scratched him. He was pretty sure he had a paper cut above his eyebrow. He was just about to tear it up when the phrase " _legal and binding"_ caught his eye.

A chill of fear scampered down his spine. He wracked his brains, trying to think…what did he do last night? He couldn't have gotten married, could he? And – who would he even have gotten married to?

Steeling himself, he unfolded the paper and took a peek.

"OH MY GOD!" Ron exploded upon reading it.

"…and I'm sure the presence of a brother would be – Ron? Are you okay?" Harry glanced quizzically at his friend.

"I think he's having a fit," Ginny said curiously, laboriously bending on her knees to look at Ron's face.

"What? Merlin – no – should we call an ambulance? Or St. Mungo's? Does St. Mungo's have an ambulance?"

"No, Harry I love you but you just use the floo. It's faster anyway…"

Ron was still staring at the piece of parchment in his hands.

"Ron?" Ginny said. "Earth to Ronniekins."

He looked up at his sister, a blank look on his face.

"Are you okay, mate?" Harry asked, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Ron turned to look at his friend with wide blue eyes. "I think," he swallowed, "I think I bought the Chudley Cannons."

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 **a/n: how did he pay for it, you may ask... the answer is... I don't know. Maybe the Ministry gave him vaults and vaults full of galleons in gratitude. Maybe Fred and George pay him really, _really_ well. Or maybe the Chudley Cannons only cost a few galleons because they're such a shit team, and their managers really wanted out. I would love to hear your theories in the reviews :)**


	3. Ron Overestimates His Tolerance

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling.**

* * *

 **** A KEEPER****

 **Chapter Three**

 ** _Ron Overestimates His Tolerance_**

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 **2 May 2000**

 **Snitches and Broomsticks, Diagon Alley**

 **. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

It was an uncomfortably wet night. It wasn't raining…more like, it was misting. Not distinctive enough for it to be rain, but just wet enough for Pansy to quickly feel soggy. The door to the pub jangled as she pushed it open and walked in, a cacophony of noise greeting her. She stomped her feet as much as she could in stilettos, trying to get the drops of water off of them.

While the Leaky Cauldron was definitely the most popular pub in Diagon Alley, it was hardly the only one. This particular pub was new, opened just after the end of the Second Wizarding War. Although it was on the very edge of Diagon Alley, almost in Knockturn, it had quickly become popular among quidditch fanatics and professional players, alike.

As she stalked toward the bar, the regulars greeted her with a smile and a wave, no matter that she never responded. Pansy had been visiting this bar every Saturday night ever since she stumbled across it one miserable night in May. She dumped her bag and her coat down on the bar, and raised an eyebrow at the bartender.

Thaimus grinned and rolled his eyes. "Good evening to you too, Miss Parkinson." He turned and began to prepare her usual. By now, he was used to Pansy Parkinson's particular brand of prickly defensiveness. "And how might this fine evening find you?"

"It's wet," Pansy grumped. "And miserable. As usual."

"Well," Thaimus replied, sliding her drink across the bar to her. "Glad to see nothing's changed."

"You know me," Pansy sighed, bringing the glass to her lips. "A person of habit."

Slowly sipping, she scanned the establishment.

"Looking for a new victim?" Thaimus grinned. "Whatever happened to the last one?"

"He serves me my drinks," Pansy deadpanned.

Thaimus smirked. "Sorry, Pans," he said. "I wanted to let you down easy, but you know I'm not one for the ladies."

"Mhm," Pansy mumbled into her glass.

"Now, if you're looking for a good time," Thaimus advised, leaning over the bar. "I'd go for the team that just won their tenth game in a row." He pointed towards the rowdy group in the corner. Pansy wrinkled her nose, recognizing all the signs of a professional team. The beers, the jerseys not yet shed, the groupies hanging off their arms…she shook her head.

"Not my type," she said firmly. "You know I don't do tabloids."

"Really?" Thaimus' grin was far to knowing as he gestured behind him. "That one sure thinks you do."

Pansy whipped back around, her gaze searching. Sure enough, one of the quidditch players in the corner had taken her appraisal as an invitation. That part wasn't a surprise. They all had an over-inflated opinion of themselves.

The surprise was that it was Ron Weasley.

He swaggered toward her with a beer in one hand and his wand holstered to his hip, a grin on his face as he slid onto the bar stool next to her.

Thaimus smirked and winked, tactfully retreating to the other end of the bar.

"Pansy Parkinson," Ron said, leaning a head on a hand. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"Nice girl?" Pansy snorted. "Sure. Have you miraculously forgotten the bit where I attempted to turn over Harry Potter to the Dark Lord myself?"

Ron's smile faded a watt. "C'mon," he leered. "Bygones be bygones. We're both young, reasonably attractive, and you seem lonely…"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Fine. Tell you what, Weasley. You buy me the shots. If you can drink me under the table, I'll go home with you."

Ron frowned. "Doesn't seem gentlemanly, but I will take you up on that deal…except instead of going home with you tonight, I want you to go on a date with me tomorrow."

Pansy sighed. "Fine."

"Bartender!" Ron waved Thaimus over from where he had retreated to watch the show. "Four shots of your finest firewhiskey, please."

Pansy laughed. "It's going to take a lot more than that, Weasley."

Ron smirked at her. "Oh, I'm counting on it."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Where're we?"

Pansy huffed, and she barely refrained from rolling her eyes. As she had predicted, Weasley had been three sheets to the wind only six shots in. And of course, being the one he had been drinking with, it fell to her to take him home.

Thaimus had laughed at her as she pulled Ron off the stool, and she had cursed him for not having rooms, like the Leaky Cauldron did. A low blow, to be sure, but here she was, Ronald Weasley slung over her shoulder, staggering down Diagon Alley.

Pansy had never been to the Weasley family home, and didn't feel she would be welcome there, even to drop off the prodigal son. She had no idea where Ron lived, and had no access to Harry Potter's home. So, she was left with the last of her options: the shop the twin Weasleys lived above.

"Y'know, yer awful pre – pretty," Ron slurred. Pansy groaned. Seeing the joke shop just ahead, she apparated the last hundred yards, until she was standing outside the door that led to the living quarters. Raising a hand, she banged on the door.

It flew open seconds later, almost as if they had been waiting for the knock. One of the Weasley twins was silhouetted in the doorway.

"Parkinson."

Pansy squinted at the redhead in the doorway, taking in his defensive stance. His magenta robes were covered in some sort of slime, and she didn't even want to guess what they had been experimenting with. His hair covered his ears, so she could only guess as to which twin it was.

"Mr. Weasley," she opted to greet him as instead. "Your brother is drunk."

"Am not," Ron mumbled, his head lolling against Pansy's shoulder as she stood there stiffly, a determined look on her face as she propped him up. "I – hic – bought the drinks."

The twin raised an eyebrow. "He _is_ pissed," he noted.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Pansy glared. Quick as a flash, a smile darted across the twin's face.

"George!" He turned and hollered into the flat. "Ronnie's brought trouble to our doorstep!"

Pulling out her best Slytherin sneer, Pansy unwound Ron's arm from her shoulder and shoved him toward his brother. "I think we're done here." She turned to leave.

"Wait!" Ron slurred. She swiveled back around. This time, she was the one to raise an eyebrow. His eyes were barely open, but they were looking directly at her. "When can I see you again?"

Pansy's shoulders tightened minutely. He's drunk, she told herself. He barely knows who he is, let alone who I am… "Thursday," she replied blithely. "I'm done volunteering at four. You can pick me up."

Then she turned her back on the Weasley's flat and left, her heels clicking decisively down the stairs.

After all, Ron Weasley was properly pissed. There was no way he'd remember the date he asked for by tomorrow morning.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

 **a/n: Pansy cast a renewing Sober-up charm on herself. She's smart. Ron's a darling, but he got drunk. Also, the Cannons are improbably successful. Shall we find out why?**


End file.
